How Well Do I Know You from
those first provocative words in letters and phone calls when you courted and
wooed me? I’m awash in nostalgia as I look into the castle where our memories are
recorded.

Words growled like a
wolf the first time we made love and you, playing the role of the alpha wolf, insisting
that I say I belong to you (and me, smiling
at my playful thought and saying, “You belong to me.”), and, then, you laughing and
growling.

Words shared about past
lovers (and me, once again laughing at my thoughts, deciding to post my limerick
about you and her, naked, and the saran wrap) and her asking you, “You told her
about that!? Why?”). The words you
limited after that over the years. I still laugh.

Words you put to paper
in poems and limericks for me, about me, and shared on your blog for the world
the read. But also the words about me you protected from the public eye as well
as those hateful words of revenge you told others and then told me what you
shared with them hoping to keep us invisible from jealous mouths and prying eyes.

I know your eye color,
the names of your blogs, the fake names you use on social internet sites, your
birth date, how short I should trim your toenails, your college major, your
moods, your favorite color, your humor, your love of a good nap, hobbies you
like and that massage table you had once, your religion, what you like for
breakfast and how you like your asparagus prepared as a snack, that you chase
women, and I know your full name.

I know you by heart;
you’re in my heart. You’re a loving memory on every part of me. How well I know
the taste of you along my lips, and the corners of my mouth; the feel of you
warm and moist at my crown, my nape, my hands, my back, my navel, my toes.

The commanding
gentleness of your hands is registered on my shoulders, my cheeks, my back, my
waist and hips, the back of my thighs, and my hands as your fingers teased and
tensed every iota of skin day and night, as those hands directed me as we
danced the tango—in our fashion.

Forever in reverie is
the weight of you against my breasts; my belly; between my thighs and against the
matted, black mass of curls at their apex; on my back; and against my buttocks.

You can never be alien
to me again; our DNA is blended together in every city, every state, every
country we have shared time as two, as one, as partners for minutes, hours,
days and nights, and weeks. It has found homes on every book, every CD, every
remote, painting, piece of each other’s clothing, every room key, every house
key, the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, every boat paddle and cabin at Sandy Point, restaurants,
bus seat, car seats and doors, the zoo, the Roswell Alien Museum, every bottle of
massage oil, the trailer down near the border, casinos, beds, chairs, counters,
showers, divan/sofas our bodies have touched.

We have shared laughs,
political thoughts, tears and sadness, loss, happiness, jokes, religions, advice,
vulnerable moments, anger, intimacies, special names/abbreviations for each
other, gifts, photos together and separate in all the places we visited, and so
much more.

How Well Do I Know You?
As well as any loved one, more than some, never less than any. I know you like
me and also more than like me.

About Me shoots over to my Google page

I'm a recovering IT Quality Assurance Manager who refuses to spend even one minute sharing facts about privacy because I'm now busy putting words into someone else's mouth -- I now provide excellent driving instructions from the shotgun seat. This is the place where I share some of the poems I have written/published as the Tumbleweed Contessa, As for me personally, I am looking (sometimes desperately) for that sweet balance between growing old gracefully and staying as young as possible for as long as possible while I spend hours painting, and writing, and way too much time finding new ways to over use ellipses... seriously... :)

I love my coffee so much I travel with my coffee maker

I'm a news and politics junky

I'm definitely into books of most genres

Cable TV free and loving it...seriously, why PAY to watch TV when there's so much more to life?

I love words but, IMHO, just okay at Scrabble

I am very nice...just ask anyone (except those who don't think I am) LOL

I used to eat cake; now I just rub it on my thighs...well, it's going to end up there anyway, right?

Being a retired Pug Herder, I now live with, and love, my only PUG PUPPY-BOY C2 (Second Chance/Chance the Second -- so named because his name was Chance but he had life-saving surgery, so now...)

I used to be a really, really good dancer, now I'm just trying to stay on my bicycle

This is pretty much the first cross-genre book, I think, I have read and while I would like to give each of the stories in the anthology a review; I won't. Who'd want to read it except the individual authors and the editor/contributor......

Romance novels can be hit or miss with me and I was surprised at how involved I became with the story in "Damn, Girl. That Sucks."
Heroine, Ivy, lacks some needed chutzpah, but readers can see right away that her vulnerability to perso...